Tag Archives: Jesus Christ

On Eschatology in the Book of Hebrews

One of the major themes of the Letter to the Hebrews is the theme of perseverance. But perseverance unto what? What is the destination toward which we are heading? Hebrews paints an extraordinarily “heavenly” picture. We share in a heavenly calling (3.1), we have tasted the heavenly gift (6.4), we desire a heavenly country (11.16), and we have come to the heavenly Jerusalem (12.22). All of this can create the impression that Hebrews replaces earthly and creational hope with an essentially spiritual, heavenly destiny. On the other hand, the strong fulfillment language found throughout the book can be pushed toward the opposite mistake, namely treating the eschatological horizon of Hebrews as if it were essentially exhausted by Christ’s first coming and other first-century events. But, in my opinion, neither of these extremes adequately captures the eschatological vision of the Book of Hebrews. Rather, Hebrews presents Christian existence as participation in an eschatological salvation that has genuinely begun through Christ’s death, resurrection, exaltation, and heavenly priesthood but awaits a future consummation at his return. That consummation cannot be reduced either to events surrounding the first century or to an immaterial heavenly existence, for Hebrews directs believers toward Christ’s future appearing, the resurrection and judgment of the dead, the final shaking of creation, and humanity’s inheritance of “the world to come.”

The author of Hebrews introduces this “world to come that we are talking about” in 2.5, and he immediately quotes from Psalm 8. Psalm 8 is a prayerful reflection on humanity’s God-given dominion over creation. In other words, it speaks of creational realities and of humanity’s God-intended vocation. The eschatological hope envisioned here is therefore not an abandonment of humanity’s creational vocation but its ultimate realization. And the author of Hebrews is clear that this vocation is fulfilled in the second Adam, Jesus Christ. Jesus fulfills humanity’s vocation, having been crowned with glory and honor because he suffered death (2.9). Yet Hebrews immediately acknowledges an obvious tension: “At present, we do not yet see everything in subjection to him.” The promise of Psalm 8 has not yet reached its complete realization in human experience. What we do see, however, is Jesus, who has already entered into the glory and dominion for which humanity was created. His exaltation therefore anticipates the destiny of those who belong to him. The “world to come” is the world in which humanity’s creational vocation, already realized in the exalted Christ, will finally become a reality for redeemed humanity. From the outset, then, Hebrews presents an eschatological hope that is both already realized in Christ and still awaiting its full realization in the world to come.

This is exactly why we can speak of the “already” in the phrase “already and not yet.” The “last days” began when the Son came incarnate to earth, died on the cross, and rose again (cf. 1.1–2). “He has appeared one time, at the end of the ages, for the removal of sin by the sacrifice of himself” (9.26). The turning of the ages, then, is not merely a future expectation; it has already occurred through the saving work of Jesus Christ. Indeed, believers have even “tasted the powers of the coming age” (6.5). This is possible because Jesus has already entered the heavenly sanctuary on our behalf (9.11–12, 24) and has taken his place at the right hand of God (1.3; 8.1). Consequently, the blessings associated with the world to come have broken into the present through the exalted Christ. Christians can presently draw near to the throne of grace (4.14–16), enter the presence of God through the blood of Jesus (10.19–22), and participate in realities belonging to the coming age. In this sense, the eschatology of Hebrews is genuinely inaugurated. The future has become present in Christ without thereby ceasing to be future.

And yet there is still a future hope. As the author writes in 9.28, “so also Christ, having been offered once to bear the sins of many, will appear a second time, not to bear sin, but to bring salvation to those who are waiting for him.” The Day is approaching (10.25), and “he who is coming will come and will not delay” (10.37). Likewise, there remains a promised rest for the people of God into which believers must still strive to enter (4.1–11). Nor is this future expectation limited to Christ’s return. Hebrews includes “the resurrection of the dead and eternal judgment” among the foundational realities of the Christian faith (6.2), while the faithful who have gone before us have “not received what was promised,” so that “they would not be made perfect without us” (11.39–40). In other words, whatever first-century fulfillments Hebrews may encompass, its eschatological horizon exceeds them. Christ has accomplished the decisive work of salvation and presently reigns at the right hand of God, but the salvation secured by his first appearing still awaits its consummation at his second. The “already” of Hebrews is therefore substantial, but it does not eliminate the “not yet.”

Of course, as I stated above, Hebrews paints an extraordinarily heavenly picture of salvation. However, it is important that we distinguish between the heavenly location and source of our salvation and the ultimate nature of our salvation. A heavenly sanctuary does not imply eternal disembodiment, nor does present access to heaven require an ultimate escape from creation. As we saw in Hebrews 2 and its quotation of Psalm 8, our salvific destiny concerns humanity and “the world to come.” The goal is the realization of humanity’s God-given vocation over creation, a destiny already realized in the exalted Christ but not yet realized in us. Moreover, Hebrews 6.2 explicitly retains “the resurrection of the dead” as part of its eschatological expectation. Even Abraham’s desire for a “better country—a heavenly one” (11.16) must be read within this broader eschatological horizon rather than as a Greek-style escape from embodiment. The country is heavenly because it is prepared by God and belongs to the order of his promised salvation, not because salvation requires the abandonment of created existence. Indeed, Hebrews immediately associates this heavenly country with the city that God has prepared for his people. In other words, Hebrews has a heavenly Christology without an ethereal eschatology.

This is made clear when the author quotes Haggai 2.6: “Yet once more I will shake not only the earth but also the heavens” (Heb 12.26). In other words, final judgment has cosmic dimensions. God’s eschatological purpose is not merely private souls arriving in heaven. It involves the shaking of the created order and “the removal of what can be shaken—that is, created things—so that what is not shaken might remain” (12.27). Significantly, the emphasis is not simply upon destruction, but upon what remains after the shaking. As believers, we are therefore “receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken” (12.28). The contrast is between the present order, which remains subject to God’s eschatological shaking and judgment, and the permanent kingdom that God will establish beyond that judgment. This is the “world to come” toward which the author has been directing our attention: the promised order in which the purposes of God, already realized in the exalted Christ, reach their final and unshakable realization. The consummation envisioned by Hebrews therefore encompasses creation, judgment, kingdom, and the destiny of redeemed humanity. Its hope is not escape from the created order, but participation in the permanent order that remains when God finally shakes heaven and earth.

This already-but-not-yet tension explains why Hebrews so frequently describes the Christian life in terms of pilgrimage and perseverance. Abraham looked forward to “the city that has foundations, whose architect and builder is God” (11.10), while the patriarchs confessed that they were “strangers and temporary residents on the earth” because they desired the better and heavenly country God had prepared for them (11.13–16). Christians similarly have no enduring city here but “seek the one to come” (13.14). Yet this pilgrimage does not mean that believers are searching for a salvation they have not yet encountered. Jesus has already entered the heavenly sanctuary as our “forerunner” (6.19–20), opening the way into God’s presence for those who belong to him. Christians therefore live between promise and consummation. We already possess access to the heavenly realities secured by Christ, but we still journey toward the final inheritance of those realities in the world to come. This is precisely why perseverance matters so much in Hebrews. Christians belong to the world to come before the world to come has arrived in its fullness. We therefore press forward in faith because the destination toward which we journey has already been secured by the Christ who has gone before us.

So, we return to the opening question: perseverance unto what? Hebrews calls believers to persevere because the salvation inaugurated by Jesus Christ has not yet reached its consummation. We await his second appearing, the resurrection of the dead and final judgment, the promised rest, the city that is to come, the unshakable kingdom, and ultimately the “world to come” over which redeemed humanity will share in the destiny already realized in Jesus Christ. Hebrews therefore allows us neither to collapse its eschatological expectations into events surrounding the first century nor to transform its heavenly language into the hope of an immaterial existence removed from creation. Instead, its eschatology is grounded in what Christ has already accomplished and directed toward what God has yet promised to accomplish. Hebrews 2 captures this tension remarkably well: “At present, we do not yet see everything subjected to him,” but “we do see Jesus” already crowned with glory and honor (2.8–9). Christians therefore look upward because Jesus is already enthroned in heaven, but we also look forward because the world over which the enthroned Son reigns has not yet become what God has promised it will be. Until then, we persevere, following our forerunner and awaiting the world to come.


On Thinking Theologically (Weekend Vlog)


On Old Testament Conceptual Metaphors and the Christology of Luke’s Gospel: A Book Review

Lanier, Gregory R. Old Testament Conceptual Metaphors and the Christology of Luke’s Gospel. Library of New Testament Studies. London: T&T Clark, 2018.

The Christology of the canonical Gospels is remarkably multifaceted. From titles such as Son of God, Son of Man, Lord, and Christ, to John’s “I AM” statements, to the numerous Old Testament images and metaphors applied to Jesus, the Gospel writers employ a variety of categories to describe the complexity of Jesus’s person and work. No single title or image exhausts their Christological portrait; rather, it is through the convergence of these various titles, images, actions, and scriptural patterns that we begin to appreciate the fullness of their presentation of Christ. This is particularly important for the Gospel of Luke. While some have characterized Luke’s Christology as comparatively “low,” such a description can easily undersell the intricate ways in which Luke presents the identity and mission of Jesus. In his published dissertation, Old Testament Conceptual Metaphors and the Christology of Luke’s Gospel, Gregory R. Lanier takes up the question of Luke’s Christology by examining four characteristic metaphors that are distinctive to Luke’s Gospel. The result is a masterpiece of literary and exegetical analysis that demonstrates how deeply Luke’s presentation of Jesus is shaped by Old Testament patterns of thought. By tracing these metaphors through their Old Testament backgrounds and their distinctive deployment within Luke’s narrative, Lanier demonstrates that Luke’s Christology is considerably richer and more sophisticated than attention to explicit Christological titles alone might suggest.

Using the tools of conceptual metaphor theory (CMT), Lanier takes up four metaphors from the Gospel of Luke whose precise scriptural backgrounds and Christological significance have been variously interpreted. These four metaphors include the “horn of salvation” (Luke 1.68–69), the “dawn from on high” (Luke 1.78–79), the bird that gathers her chicks under her wings (Luke 13.34), and the “stone the builders rejected” (Luke 20.17–18). While scholars generally agree that these images draw upon the Old Testament and the interpretive world of Second Temple Judaism, there is considerably less agreement concerning which particular Scripture or Scriptures stand behind them and how those backgrounds illuminate Luke’s use of the images. Using CMT, Lanier approaches each image not simply as an allusion to a single Old Testament passage but as a conceptual metaphor drawing upon a wider network of Old Testament texts and images to map out the contours of Jesus’s person and work. Most significantly, Lanier argues that these metaphors draw upon imagery used in the Old Testament to describe the identity and activity of God, which Luke then reapplies to Jesus. The result contributes to a kind of “divine identity Christology” in which Jesus is portrayed as doing the kinds of things that Israel’s God does. Of course, these four metaphors do not exhaust Luke’s Christological perspective. Luke’s Christology is multilayered and must be constructed from the convergence of numerous titles, images, actions, and narrative patterns. Nevertheless, Lanier’s analysis demonstrates why the simple dichotomy between “high” and “low” Christology is inadequate for describing the complexity of Luke’s presentation of Jesus.

One of the greatest strengths of Lanier’s study is the explanatory power that conceptual metaphor theory brings to Luke’s use of Old Testament imagery. Studies of the New Testament’s use of the Old Testament often focus on identifying a particular source text behind a quotation or allusion. While this approach is useful when the textual relationship is relatively clear, it can prove more difficult when dealing with images that appear across a wide range of Old Testament texts. Lanier’s use of CMT provides a compelling way forward by allowing these metaphors to draw upon a broader network of scriptural associations rather than requiring them to depend upon a single identifiable source text. Thus, an image such as the “horn of salvation,” the dawning of light, the protection of a bird’s wings, or the rejected stone can evoke a constellation of Old Testament texts in which the same conceptual associations repeatedly occur. Importantly, this approach does not amount simply to collecting possible verbal parallels. Lanier demonstrates how recurring patterns of language and imagery establish conceptual relationships that would have shaped the meaning of these metaphors within the scriptural world inherited by Luke. This allows him to account for the richness of Luke’s imagery without reducing it to dependence upon any one passage. Lanier’s use of CMT therefore does more than identify additional Old Testament backgrounds for Luke’s language; it provides a compelling account of how a network of scriptural imagery can contribute cumulatively to Luke’s presentation of Jesus.

A second major strength of Lanier’s study is the Christological payoff that emerges from his analysis of these metaphors. Discussions of Luke’s Christology have often focused primarily on explicit Christological titles such as “Son of God,” “Son of Man,” “Lord,” and “Christ.” While these titles are undoubtedly important, Lanier demonstrates that Luke’s presentation of Jesus cannot be adequately reconstructed from titles alone. The conceptual metaphors examined in this study provide another important avenue through which Luke communicates Jesus’s identity and mission. Particularly significant is Lanier’s demonstration that each of these metaphors participates in patterns of Old Testament imagery associated with the identity and activity of YHWH. The significance of Luke’s application of these images to Jesus is therefore greater than the metaphors might initially suggest. Jesus does not merely perform actions analogous to those of other divinely appointed figures; he is portrayed through images that describe the saving, protecting, judging, and vindicating activity of Israel’s God. Lanier thus demonstrates how a robust Christology can emerge through the cumulative effect of Luke’s scriptural imagery without depending exclusively upon explicit statements concerning Jesus’s identity. This is one reason the traditional distinction between “high” and “low” Christology can prove inadequate for describing Luke’s Gospel. Lanier’s study shows that some of Luke’s most significant Christological claims are embedded within the scriptural images through which he narrates the identity and mission of Jesus.

The principal limitation of Lanier’s approach arises, somewhat ironically, from the same methodological breadth that makes his analysis so illuminating. By moving beyond the search for a single source text, CMT allows Lanier to account for the wider network of scriptural associations that may inform Luke’s metaphors. Yet this breadth also raises the question of how the interpreter determines the boundaries of that network. If a metaphor can draw upon a constellation of Old Testament texts without requiring a direct verbal correspondence with any one passage, it can become difficult to distinguish between conceptual associations that Luke plausibly intends to evoke and associations that are present within the broader scriptural tradition but may not contribute directly to the meaning of the Lukan text. Consequently, some of Lanier’s proposed connections are necessarily more persuasive than others, particularly where the linguistic or contextual relationship between Luke and the proposed Old Testament background is less explicit. This does not undermine the usefulness of CMT or the cumulative force of Lanier’s argument. Indeed, the recurrence of similar patterns across the four metaphors provides considerable support for his broader Christological conclusions. Nevertheless, the method places a significant burden upon the interpreter to demonstrate why particular texts and conceptual associations should be included within the relevant metaphorical network. Lanier’s study therefore demonstrates both the promise of CMT for the study of Luke’s use of Scripture and the need for careful exegetical controls when reconstructing the scriptural world that informs Luke’s Christological imagery.

In the final analysis, Old Testament Conceptual Metaphors and the Christology of Luke’s Gospel is an outstanding contribution to the study of Luke’s Christology and his use of the Old Testament. Lanier demonstrates both the explanatory value of conceptual metaphor theory and the importance of attending to forms of scriptural influence that extend beyond explicit quotations, direct allusions, and traditional Christological titles. His analysis of the “horn of salvation,” the “dawn from on high,” the gathering bird, and the rejected stone reveals how seemingly familiar images can carry a remarkable amount of Christological significance when situated within the broader conceptual world of Israel’s Scriptures. Although the breadth of CMT raises important questions concerning the boundaries and controls of these scriptural networks, Lanier applies the method with considerable exegetical care and produces a cumulative argument that is difficult to dismiss. More importantly, his study reminds us that Luke’s Christology cannot be adequately described simply by cataloguing the titles applied to Jesus or locating the Gospel somewhere along a spectrum from “low” to “high” Christology. Luke’s presentation of Jesus emerges from the convergence of titles, actions, narrative patterns, and deeply embedded scriptural images. Lanier has provided a compelling account of one important dimension of that portrait, and his study deserves serious attention from anyone interested in Luke’s Christology, Luke’s use of Scripture, or the relationship between the Old and New Testaments.


On Thinking Theologically (Weekend Vlog)


On Thinking Theologically (Weekend Vlog)


On the Kingdom of God and this World

In my opinion, one of the most profound scenes of Jesus’s passion is his examination before Pilate in John 18:28–40. In the middle of this scene, Jesus makes a startling statement: “My kingdom is not of this world. If my kingdom were of this world, my servants would fight, so that I wouldn’t be handed over to the Jews. But as it is, my kingdom is not from here” (John 18.36). This statement is pregnant with significance for understanding the nature of the kingdom Jesus preached, but it is often misunderstood. When Jesus says, “My kingdom is not of this world,” many understand him to mean something like, “My kingdom has nothing to do with the earth.” This can create the misconception that the Christian hope is ultimately to escape the physical world for an immaterial heavenly existence. But is this what Jesus is really saying? To answer that question, we must distinguish between two others: Where does Jesus’s kingdom come from, and where will it ultimately be manifested? Jesus’s kingdom is not an immaterial or purely spiritual kingdom removed from the earth. Rather, its origin and authority do not derive from the present world order, and it will ultimately be manifested in its fullness when Christ reigns over a renewed creation.

However, in order to understand this, we must first consider Jesus’s statement in its immediate context. The question Jesus is answering sets the scene. Pilate asks, “Are you the King of the Jews?” (John 18:33). In response, Jesus does not deny the implication of the question, but he uses the opportunity to clarify the nature of his kingdom: “My kingdom is not [from] this world.” The preposition (ἐκ) indicates the source or origin of Jesus’s kingdom, not its geographical location or ultimate destination. In other words, Jesus does not mean that his kingdom has nothing to do with this world, that it will never exist upon the earth, or even that it is purely spiritual. Rather, Jesus is saying that his authority does not stem from the world’s powers and that his kingdom does not operate according to the world’s principles and values. This is why he goes on to say, “If my kingdom were of this world, my servants would fight, so that I wouldn’t be handed over to the Jews.” If his kingdom were a kingdom derived from this world, then his servants would advance it according to this world’s methods. But his kingdom is from above, even as he is from above. It is defined by a different set of priorities and values. Or, to put it another way, Jesus’s point concerns the origin and character of his kingdom, not the permanent exclusion of the earth from its rule.

This distinction between the kingdom’s heavenly origin and its earthly significance is consistent with a larger pattern in John’s Gospel. Earlier, Jesus tells his opponents, “You are from below; I am from above. You are of this world; I am not of this world” (John 8:23). The language closely parallels Jesus’s description of his kingdom before Pilate. Yet when Jesus says that he is not “of this world,” he obviously does not mean that his mission has nothing to do with the world. Jesus comes from above precisely in order to enter this world and accomplish God’s saving purposes within it. His heavenly origin identifies the source of his identity and authority without removing his mission from the earthly sphere. The same is true of his kingdom. Because it is not “from this world,” Christ’s kingdom does not derive its authority from earthly rulers like Pilate or advance through the coercive power by which worldly kingdoms maintain their rule. Its authority comes from God and therefore confronts the fallen world’s values rather than conforming to them. A kingdom that is not from this world, then, need not be a kingdom that has nothing to do with this world. Indeed, the larger biblical story reveals that God’s purpose is not to abandon the world he created, but ultimately to redeem and renew it.

In the beginning, God created the physical world and all it entails, and then he pronounced it to be “very good.” When sin entered the picture, however, it corrupted God’s good creation. But rather than simply abandon what he had made, God set in motion a plan to redeem the created order and restore what was lost in the garden. This is why Paul says that creation itself longs to be “set free from the bondage to decay into the glorious freedom of God’s children” (Rom. 8:21). Significantly, Paul connects the liberation of creation with the redemption of our bodies (8:23). The Christian hope, therefore, can be summed up in one word: resurrection. Jesus was raised bodily, and those who believe in him await a resurrection in which our mortal bodies will be glorified. (On Christian hope as resurrection rather than simply “going to heaven,” see here.) Our hope is not for some kind of disembodied existence, nor is it to be saved from material creation. Rather, we await the glorification of our bodies so that we might live as embodied creatures within a restored creation. The biblical story does not move from creation to the abandonment of creation, but from creation through fall and redemption to new creation.

This is ultimately how the kingdom of God will be manifested on earth, i.e., in a new creation; this is the goal of the Bible’s story. In Revelation 21:1–3, we read of a new heaven and a new earth, and a new Jerusalem coming down out of heaven to earth. John records it this way: “Then I heard a loud voice from the throne: Look, God’s dwelling is with humanity, and he will live with them. They will be his peoples, and God himself will be with them and will be their God” (Rev. 21:3). The direction of this movement is significant. God’s people do not permanently leave the earth to dwell with God somewhere else; God comes to dwell with his people in a renewed creation. This vision brings to fulfillment Isaiah’s earlier expectation of “new heavens and a new earth” (Isa. 65:17) and the declaration in Revelation that “the kingdom of the world has become the kingdom of our Lord and of his Christ, and he will reign forever and ever” (Rev. 11:15). Christ’s reign, therefore, does not culminate in the abandonment of the created world, but in God’s reign being fully manifested throughout a renewed creation. The present world order characterized by sin, rebellion, death, and corruption passes away, but God’s purposes for his creation do not. The kingdom is not from this world, but it is ultimately for this world—not the world as presently corrupted by sin, but the world judged, renewed, and brought completely under the reign of Christ.

Of course, this does not mean that Christ is not already reigning. Christ does not have to wait until the new creation to become King. He is King, and he is seated at the right hand of the Father, where he reigns over his church by his Spirit through the Word. His kingdom is already present, and his authority is already real. Through his death, resurrection, exaltation, and the giving of the Spirit, Christ presently reigns. We call this inaugurated eschatology, or the already and the not yet. (On inaugurated eschatology in the preaching of John and Jesus, see my post here.) The kingdom of Christ has already begun, but it has not yet reached its full realization. However, it is important to note that just because Christ’s kingdom is already present, this does not mean that it is a purely spiritual kingdom. It is presently manifested on earth through his church, and one day it will be consummated throughout the new creation. The difference is not between a spiritual kingdom now and an earthly kingdom later, but between a kingdom already inaugurated and a kingdom not yet consummated. The kingdom that has already broken into the present through Christ will therefore reach its appointed goal when his reign extends in all its fullness throughout a renewed creation at his return. (On the already and the not yet of the Kingdom, see Thinking Theologically here.)

So, we can now return to that profound scene with which we began. Pilate looks upon what appears to be a powerless Jewish prisoner and asks, “Are you the King of the Jews?” Jesus’s answer is that he possesses a kingdom, but that his kingdom is “not from this world” (John 18:36). Far from denying his kingship or consigning his kingdom to some immaterial spiritual realm, Jesus identifies the divine source and radically different character of his reign. His kingdom does not originate from the fallen powers of this world, nor does it advance through their methods of coercion and violence. The Christian hope, therefore, is neither the establishment of Christ’s kingdom through worldly political conquest nor an escape from the physical world into an eternal disembodied existence. Instead, we await the return of the King, the resurrection of the dead, the judgment of evil, and the renewal of creation, when the reign that already belongs to Christ will be manifested in all its fullness. Jesus’s kingdom is not from this world because its authority, power, and character come from God. But that does not mean that Christ intends to abandon the world to sin, death, and decay. The King who once stood before Pilate will return to renew creation and manifest his reign over all things. The kingdom is not from this world, but God’s purpose is ultimately to bring this world, renewed and restored, under the reign of its rightful King.


On Thinking Theologically (Weekend Vlog)


On the Preaching of John the Baptist and Jesus

Have you ever wondered why all four Gospels begin the story of Jesus’s public ministry with the ministry of John the Baptist? Could it possibly be because John came preaching, “Repent, because the kingdom of heaven has come near!” (Matt. 3.2), and Jesus began his own ministry by preaching, “Repent, because the kingdom of heaven has come near!” (Matt. 4.17)? They begin their preaching with virtually the same message. What, then, is the relationship between the preaching and ministry of John the Baptist and that of Jesus? Sometimes John is treated as little more than a necessary but largely preparatory prelude to the more important ministry of Jesus, almost as though his primary purpose were simply to baptize Jesus and then disappear from the story. But the Gospels reveal remarkable continuity between the preaching of these two figures. Jesus’s preaching stands in fundamental continuity with John the Baptist’s proclamation of the approaching kingdom, repentance, salvation, and judgment; yet it also develops John’s message by announcing that the kingdom has become present in Jesus’s own ministry while its final judgment remains future. The transition from John to Jesus, therefore, is not a transition from one eschatological message to another, but from the announcement of what God is about to do to the inauguration of that promise in Jesus himself. To understand this development, however, we must first consider what John was actually announcing.

Of course, John the Baptist’s preaching is fundamentally eschatological. He appears in the wilderness announcing, “Repent, because the kingdom of heaven has come near!” (Matt. 3.2). The nearness of God’s kingdom means that Israel has reached a decisive moment in the history of salvation, and repentance is the necessary response to what God is about to do. Indeed, John warns his hearers not to presume upon their covenantal identity: “Don’t presume to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our father’” (Matt. 3.9). Instead, they must “produce fruit consistent with repentance” because “the ax is already at the root of the trees” (3.8, 10). John’s proclamation therefore contains both salvation and judgment. On the one hand, he announces the coming of one more powerful than himself who “will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire” (3.11). On the other hand, this Coming One already has “his winnowing shovel” in his hand and will separate the wheat from the chaff, burning the latter “with fire that never goes out” (3.12). John therefore stands at the threshold of Israel’s eschatological expectation, announcing that God’s promised intervention is no longer located in some distant future—it has drawn near. His call to repentance, promise of the Spirit, and warning of judgment all derive their urgency from this conviction. Most importantly, however, John does not present himself as the one who will accomplish these things. His entire proclamation points beyond himself toward the Coming One through whom God’s promised salvation and judgment will arrive.

The preaching of Jesus stands in basic continuity with the contours of John’s message. As noted above, Jesus also comes proclaiming the nearness of the kingdom and the need for repentance. In Matthew 4.17, Jesus declares, “Repent, because the kingdom of heaven has come near!” repeating verbatim the proclamation of John (Matt. 3.2). Similarly, Mark summarizes Jesus’s preaching: “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near. Repent and believe the good news!” (Mark 1.15). The point is that Jesus retains John’s basic eschatological framework: kingdom, repentance, salvation, judgment, restoration, and accountability before God. He does not correct John by suggesting that his expectation of judgment was mistaken or that Israel’s eschatological hopes were misguided. On the contrary, Jesus repeatedly warns of a coming judgment, whether in his teaching concerning Gehenna (Matt. 10.28), the separation of the righteous and wicked (Matt. 13.40–43), or the future judgment of the Son of Man (Matt. 25.31–46). We must therefore resist the simplistic dichotomy that John preached judgment while Jesus preached grace. Both proclaim salvation and judgment as dimensions of God’s coming kingdom. The fundamental difference between their preaching must be located somewhere else. The question is not whether Jesus abandoned John’s eschatological message, but what happened to that message once the One whom John announced actually arrived.

In Matthew 11.2–3, John sends messengers to Jesus to ask him, “Are you the one who is to come, or should we expect someone else?” We are not told exactly what prompted John’s question, but the apparent disconnect between his preaching and Jesus’s actual ministry was likely part of the equation. John had proclaimed the nearness of the kingdom alongside warnings of impending judgment, yet the ministry of Jesus did not seem to indicate that such judgment had arrived. This is why Jesus’s answer to John’s question is so significant. Rather than simply answering yes, Jesus points to the fruit of his ministry: “The blind receive their sight, the lame walk, those with leprosy are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor are told the good news” (Matt. 11.5). These signs reflect the expectations of eschatological restoration found throughout the Book of Isaiah (especially Isa. 35:5–6; 61:1–2). The healings, exorcisms, forgiveness, restoration, and proclamation of good news therefore demonstrate that Israel’s promised salvation has begun. John announced what God was about to do; Jesus points to what God is now doing through him. Here we encounter the essential development from John’s preaching to that of Jesus: John announces the Coming One; Jesus announces and embodies the arrival of the kingdom because he is the Coming One. The transition from John to Jesus is therefore the transition from eschatological expectation to eschatological fulfillment. The promised blessings of the kingdom have begun to enter the present through the ministry of Jesus. But if the blessings have arrived, what has happened to the judgment John so urgently announced?

John had proclaimed that the ax was at the root, that the winnowing fork was in the Coming One’s hand, and that the chaff would be burned with unquenchable fire. Yet Jesus heals, forgives, restores, eats with sinners, and proclaims good news. What is important to remember, however, is that John was not wrong: judgment is coming. Rather, the ministry of Jesus brings greater clarity to the temporal structure of John’s eschatology. The kingdom has arrived in the earthly ministry of Jesus, but final judgment has not. This distinction is illustrated particularly well in Jesus’s sermon at Nazareth in Luke 4. There Jesus reads from Isaiah 61:1–2 and then proclaims, “Today as you listen, this Scripture has been fulfilled” (Luke 4:21). Interestingly, however, Jesus’s reading stops with “the year of the LORD’s favor” and does not include the following phrase, “the day of our God’s vengeance.” We should probably not build too much upon this omission alone, but it fits the larger pattern of Jesus’s ministry remarkably well. The promised blessings of Israel’s restoration are being inaugurated in the present, while final judgment remains future. This does not mean that Jesus abandons John’s expectation of judgment. As noted above, Jesus repeatedly warns of a coming judgment and associates its consummation with the future coming of the Son of Man in glory. Judgment has not disappeared from God’s eschatological program; Jesus has revealed that the kingdom’s saving blessings enter history before its final judgment arrives.

The point is that John’s basic expectations were correct. The Coming One would bring salvation, the Spirit, restoration, and judgment. But the earthly ministry of Jesus reveals that these realities do not all arrive simultaneously in their consummated form. The preaching and ministry of Jesus operate according to what is often described as the “already and not yet,” or inaugurated eschatology. This simply means that in the earthly ministry of Jesus, the kingdom of God was already present even though its final consummation remained future. For example, Jesus declares, “If I drive out demons by the Spirit of God, then the kingdom of God has come upon you” (Matt. 12:28). His ministry of healing, exorcism, forgiveness, and restoration therefore demonstrates that God’s saving reign had already broken into history. Yet Jesus continues to speak of realities that remain future: the resurrection of the dead, the return of the Son of Man, final judgment, and the consummation of God’s kingdom. The kingdom is therefore genuinely present without yet being present in its fullness. Salvation has been inaugurated, while final judgment and consummation remain future. This is not a rejection of John’s preaching but its clarification and fulfillment. The Coming One has arrived, just as John announced, but Jesus reveals something John did not fully articulate: his first advent inaugurates the promised salvation of the kingdom before his return brings that kingdom to its consummation in final judgment.

In the final analysis, the preaching of Jesus neither abandons nor merely repeats the preaching of John the Baptist. Both proclaim the nearness of God’s kingdom, call Israel to repentance, announce the arrival of eschatological salvation, and warn of coming judgment. This is why Matthew can summarize their preaching with precisely the same words: “Repent, because the kingdom of heaven has come near!” (Matt. 3:2; 4:17). Yet those words take on a new significance when spoken by Jesus. John stands at the threshold of fulfillment, announcing that the kingdom is near and pointing forward to the Coming One who will bring it. Jesus is that Coming One, and through his preaching, healings, exorcisms, forgiveness, and restoration, the saving power of the kingdom begins to enter the present. The transition from John to Jesus is therefore the transition from eschatological expectation to eschatological fulfillment—not yet fulfillment in all its fullness, but fulfillment genuinely inaugurated in history. John announces that God’s kingdom has drawn near; Jesus announces and demonstrates that in him its saving power has begun to arrive. Salvation has entered the present, while final judgment remains ahead, awaiting the return of the King who first came proclaiming good news.


On the Pericope Adulterae (John 7.53-8.11)

It is a familiar scene. The Jewish religious leaders bring a woman who has been caught in adultery before Jesus, seeking to trap him with the requirements of the Mosaic Law. Yet rather than immediately condemning her, Jesus responds, “The one without sin among you should be the first to throw a stone at her” (John 8.7). With their scheme exposed, the accusers depart one by one until only Jesus and the woman remain. He then tells her, “Neither do I condemn you. Go, and from now on do not sin anymore” (8.11). It is a beautiful picture of the compassion and grace of Jesus toward a guilty sinner. There is only one problem: a footnote in virtually every modern English translation informs us that “the earliest manuscripts do not include John 7.53–8.11.” Whether through brackets, footnotes, or some other notation, all modern translations alert readers that there is considerable doubt about whether this beloved story originally belonged to the Gospel of John. What, then, should Christians who believe in the inspiration and inerrancy of Scripture do with this passage? How should we think about a story about Jesus that may be historically ancient but was probably not written by John? In what follows, I would like to consider these questions by arguing that although the manuscript, internal, and patristic evidence strongly suggests that the Pericope Adulterae was not originally part of the Gospel of John, its textual status need not threaten Christian confidence in Scripture. Rather, the passage provides an important opportunity to distinguish between the possible historical authenticity of an ancient tradition about Jesus and the canonical authority of the inspired text.

Of course, our English Bibles are based upon a manuscript tradition that stretches back nearly two thousand years. Although we no longer possess the autographs—the original documents actually written by the New Testament authors—we have thousands of Greek manuscripts and manuscript fragments dating from the second century through the invention of the printing press in the fifteenth century. Through the process known as textual criticism, scholars compare these manuscripts with one another, alongside evidence from ancient translations, lectionaries, and quotations preserved in the church fathers in an effort to determine the earliest recoverable form of the text and, ultimately, reconstruct the original words of the inspired authors. (On the process of textual criticism, see my post here.) Importantly, however, textual criticism is not simply a matter of counting manuscripts. The evidence must be weighed according to such factors as age, provenance, textual relationships, and the character of the individual readings. A thousand late manuscripts containing a particular reading do not necessarily outweigh a handful of significantly earlier witnesses. This brings us to the problem of the Pericope Adulterae: the earliest and strongest manuscript evidence does not include the story at John 7.53–8.11. For this reason, most modern translations bracket the passage, place it in a footnote, or otherwise alert readers that its originality to the Gospel of John is seriously disputed.

The earliest extant Greek manuscript to include the story is Codex Bezae (D), a fifth-century diglot containing the text in both Greek and Latin. This is significant because the early textual reception of the passage appears to have been particularly strong in the Western church, where Latin increasingly became the primary ecclesiastical language. Moreover, although the story eventually appears in the majority of manuscripts from the medieval period, there is considerable discrepancy over where it should be located. It can be found in its familiar location after John 7.52, but in other manuscripts it appears after John 7.36, 7.44, or 21.25, while another textual tradition places it after Luke 21.38. In other words, this looks like a story looking for a home, so to speak. The early patristic evidence is similarly complicated. The Greek Fathers generally do not comment upon the passage, while in the West it appears in writers such as Ambrose of Milan, Augustine, and Jerome, all from the fourth century. Significantly, these Western witnesses themselves reflect awareness that the passage was absent from some manuscripts. Jerome nevertheless included it in the Latin Vulgate, after which the story became increasingly established within the Western textual and ecclesiastical tradition. However, the late appearance of the passage in extant Greek manuscripts, its unstable location within the manuscript tradition, and its uneven early reception provide substantial external evidence for concluding that it was probably not part of the original text of John’s Gospel.

There are still other reasons for doubting the story’s originality to the Gospel of John. For one, the passage contains some fourteen words that appear nowhere else in the Fourth Gospel—almost one distinctive word per verse. For example, John 8:3 is the only place in the Gospel where we encounter “the scribes” as a distinct group. John has several other ways of referring to Israel’s religious leaders, but he never refers to the scribes in this manner outside the Pericope Adulterae. Significantly, several of these words that are otherwise absent from John are quite common in the Synoptic Gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke), giving the story a linguistic character somewhat different from its surrounding Johannine context. This may also help explain why one manuscript tradition eventually placed the story after Luke 21:38. In addition to this linguistic evidence, the story appears to interrupt the natural flow of John’s narrative. At the end of chapter 7, Jesus is teaching in the temple precincts during the festival, culminating in his proclamation concerning “streams of living water.” Then, in John 8:12, Jesus continues his public teaching with the declaration, “I am the light of the world.” The Pericope Adulterae, however, interrupts this sequence with the statement that “each one went to his own house, but Jesus went to the Mount of Olives” (7:53–8:1). Read without the disputed passage, the narrative moves quite naturally from 7:52 to 8:12. When this internal evidence is considered alongside the external evidence discussed above, the cumulative case against the Pericope Adulterae being original to the Gospel of John appears very strong.

However, the textual question is quite separate from the historical question. It is entirely possible that this is an authentic story about Jesus that was passed down orally and only later written down and incorporated into the manuscript tradition. After all, the characterization of Jesus and the religious leaders is consistent with what we see elsewhere in the Gospel traditions, and the themes and principles of the story are consistent with what we know of Jesus’s teaching from the rest of the New Testament. In his A Textual Commentary on the Greek New Testament, Bruce Metzger concludes that “the story has all the earmarks of historical veracity.” In other words, even though the story may be textually secondary, this does not mean that it is historically late or fictitious. It is entirely possible that the Pericope Adulterae preserves an authentic tradition about the historical Jesus that circulated independently before eventually finding its way into copies of the Gospels. Nevertheless, we must carefully distinguish between saying, “Jesus may actually have done this,” and saying, “John wrote this under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit.” Historical authenticity does not by itself establish canonical authority. The early church undoubtedly preserved many true memories and traditions concerning Jesus that were never included in the canonical Gospels; indeed, John himself acknowledges that Jesus did “many other things” that were not written in his Gospel (John 21:25). The question of canonicity, therefore, is not merely whether an event actually happened, but whether the account of that event belongs to the text given through the inspired biblical authors. And that distinction has important implications for how Christians should read, teach, and preach the Pericope Adulterae.

Our doctrines of inspiration and inerrancy are specifically tied to the autographic text, that is to say, the documents that the biblical authors actually wrote are the locus of biblical authority. This is the text that we preach; this is the text that holds authority for our theology and doctrine. Therefore, if the Pericope Adulterae was not part of that original text, then we should not base any doctrinal claims upon it or preach it as though we know it possesses canonical authority. We can certainly discuss it as a potentially authentic tradition about the historical Jesus; we can also demonstrate how its principles and themes are consistent with what canonical Scripture teaches elsewhere. But we should be careful about preaching it as Holy Scripture. After all, consistency with Scripture does not make something Scripture. Many statements found in the writings of the early church fathers are thoroughly consistent with biblical teaching, but we do not therefore regard them as divinely inspired or canonically authoritative. The same distinction should guide our treatment of the Pericope Adulterae. Nothing essential to Christian doctrine is lost by recognizing its uncertain textual status: the grace and compassion of Jesus toward sinners, the universal reality of human sinfulness, the necessity of repentance, and the call to holiness are all abundantly taught in undisputed passages of the New Testament. We therefore lose nothing by allowing the textual evidence to determine the passage’s canonical status rather than our affection for the story. Indeed, a high view of Scripture requires us not merely to defend the Bible we have received, but to seek as carefully as possible the text that the inspired authors actually wrote.

In the final analysis, the textual questions surrounding the Pericope Adulterae should not weaken our confidence in Scripture. If anything, they demonstrate why the discipline of textual criticism is so important. Modern translations do not place brackets or footnotes around John 7.53–8.11 because translators have decided to remove an inconvenient passage from the Bible; they do so because they are attempting to be transparent about the manuscript evidence and recover as faithfully as possible the text that John actually wrote. The remarkable number of surviving New Testament manuscripts allows scholars to identify places where later additions, omissions, or other textual variations entered the tradition and to evaluate them openly. The Pericope Adulterae may preserve an ancient and even authentic memory of Jesus, and its beautiful portrayal of his grace toward sinners explains why Christians have cherished it for centuries. Yet our confidence in Scripture must rest not upon our attachment to a particular story, but upon the God who inspired his Word and has providentially preserved it through the manuscript tradition. Christians committed to the inspiration and inerrancy of Scripture should therefore have nothing to fear from textual criticism. Our desire should simply be to know, preserve, proclaim, and obey as faithfully as possible the words God actually inspired his servants to write.

See also:
On the Ending(s) of the Gospel of Mark


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